It's a Long Walk To London
by I.F Eightythree
Summary: The war in Europe has come to a close and the camp has been liberated; all should be right in the world, correct? Not exactly. Possible AU.
1. The Stalag Still Stands

**Prologue/Chapter One**  
_The Stalag Still Stands_

* * *

_Author's Note: This fan fiction is loosely based off of the challenge topic "The Strike Out Challenge", which was issued by 96 Hubbles in 2009 [it is #187 on the Challenges thread on Forum XIIIc, for those interested]. This fan fiction doesn't follow the directions of the challenge to a T, so I suppose it would be better to say that this was inspired by the challenge, rather than saying it is an actual response to it. Also, as mentioned in the summary, this fan fiction has elements that could label it as an alternate universe. At the moment, I'm really not sure what to consider it. One last warning before this author's note becomes longer than the prologue: this contains an original character, whose name I picked out at random.  
_

* * *

The war in Europe had officially come to an end earlier that month; a week prior to the victory a team of Russian soldiers, made up of air force servicemen and retired veterans stormed through the gates of Stalag 13. The team, lead by a man only known at the time as Burknov, liberated the camp late one evening.

The men gathered in the camp compound to witness "The Iron Eagle" run out of his quarters like a chicken with his head cut off. Klink desperately tried to convince the leader of the group that he had been a fair and humane commandant the entire time he commanded Stalag 13. Schultz and the other guards joined in with Klink, pleading their cases in hopes of saving their necks. The surrender of Stalag 13 certainly would not be considered "honorable", especially to the members of the "master" race; however, it did give the prisoners one last chance to laugh at their captors - and this time they could not be punished for it.

The Commandant and the guards of the camp were brushed off by Burknov before they were sent to the cooler for the night. The next morning they all would be taken out of camp, their fate unknown.

The men woke up the next morning expecting to be sent home, finally, but that was not the case. That morning the camp gates were closed and were guarded by two Russians who were armed with rifles. The merry atmosphere from the night before had been replaced with a dreadful realization that they thought would only happen in their nightmares: They were not going to be set free - they were still imprisoned at Stalag 13, and this time they were held back by men who were supposed to be on their side.


	2. The Men Are Still In The Barracks

**Chapter Two**  
_The Men Are Still In The Barracks_

* * *

"Carter, the next time you kick three fouls in a row I'm going to have you court martialed," Colonel Hogan said as he and Carter walked to the outfield during a game of kickball.

"Sorry, Colonel, I guess I was nervous that the ball would go by the gate," Carter explained, he looked over at the front gate being guarded by two Russians and then looked up at his commanding officer with an innocent grin.

Hogan sighed and clapped Carter on the back, "Well don't be nervous, you couldn't kick it hard enough to make it over by the gate anyway. Now go over to third base."

Carter nodded obeyed without protest and jogged over to the makeshift base, which was a simple marking in the dirt.

Three weeks had passed since the ragtag band of Russians had taken over Stalag 13, and there was little difference with how the Stalag operated under the command of the strange, quiet man named Burknov and how it had operated under Commandant Klink. Any area that a prisoner could escape from was guarded; the gate, the woods, and the emergency exit Hogan and the other men working against the German war effort used to sneak in and out of Stalag 13 were the hot spots. Escape from the camp would be difficult; unlike the Germans, the men would not be able to get the Russian guards to look away easily. On most days, prisoners arranged games to keep themselves distracted from their captivity - just like during the war.

Today a small game of kickball was arranged between 15 players; Hogan, Kinch, and Carter were the only men from Barracks Two to play in the game, Olsen played as well, but had transferred to a different hut the week before. Kinch was pitching the ball, and it was Olsen's turn to kick. Hogan and Carter were out in the field guarding bases. The players focused, and the ball rolled quickly across the playing area and directly to the kicker. Olsen gave the ball a hard, swift kick with more force than anyone had expected. The ball flew in the air before landing and rolling towards the front gate. The men going after the ball stopped dead in their tracks as the ball got closer and closer to the guards, stopping within a few feet of the men at the gate.

The men exchanged glances, none of them willing to get too close to the guards. There was something about those men that gave off a bad vibe; perhaps it was how they looked at the prisoners with a cold, hard stare whenever one walked by, or how they never spoke a word. Whatever it was, they did not seem friendly, and no one was anxious to learn just how sociable they could be.

Knowing none of the other men were going to fetch the game ball, Hogan walked over to grab the ball as confidently as possible. When he bent down to pick it up, the two men at the gate watched him carefully but said nothing. The American breathed a sigh of relief as he got up and turned to return to the game, but a hand grabbed him roughly and pulled him back.

"Hey!" Hogan yelled as he was jerked back violently.

"Don't come near gate!" The guard said in a warning tone. His thick Russian accent made it difficult to understand his broken English. The two men stared for a moment before the guard released Hogan, "Go!" The man pushed him forward, and he stumbled, almost falling to the ground. The American whipped around to see a rifle pointed at his chest, the holder ordering him to "go" repeatedly.

Hogan quickly ran back to where the game was being played. For the first time in a long time, he was afraid. The last time he could recall being so afraid of the guards in camp was back when Stalag 13 was still under German control. Once in a while, a competent guard would be assigned to Stalag 13 and would not hesitate to shoot to kill. Hogan and the other prisoners would always make sure to get that type of guard out of camp before the operation, or their lives, were put in jeopardy.

When Hogan made it back to the other men, they began to all talk at once. They were frustrated and upset at the unreasonable assault.

"Hold it, fellas," Hogan said over the crowd, "the game is over, everyone go back to the barracks and stay away from those guys," he tilted his head toward the two guards.

The other men eagerly agreed, and retreated back to their respective huts.

* * *

Hogan, Carter, and Kinch entered their barracks. Inside, Baker was sitting at the table crafting paper airplanes from the blue paper they used to use to write orders from London.

"That was fast," he said looking up from his work, "the game ended that quick?"

"Boy, you should have seen it!" Carter said excitedly, "Olsen kicked the ball all the way to the gate, and when Colonel Hogan went over to get the ball, those guys at the gate assaulted him!"

Baker's eyes widened in concern, "are you all right, Colonel?"

Hogan waved him off, "I'm fine, don't worry. Just stay away from those guards." he paced around the room and changed the subject, "have Newkirk and LeBeau swept the barracks for bugs?"

"Yeah, they went over to the other barracks when nothing was found here." Baker replied as he completed a paper airplane.

"Good," Hogan leaned against the bunk Carter and Newkirk had shared during the war and let his thoughts get the best of him. Three weeks had passed since the Russians had arrived, since the war ended, and he was still in a prison camp in the middle of Germany. And for what reason? Burknov claimed that he had orders from Allied Command to moderate the amount of prisoners being sent back home. They were "too overwhelmed" was how the Russian put it. To Hogan, that explanation seemed fishy, something about it just didn't seem right.

He wasn't about to spend another summer in Stalag 13, he wasn't going to wait for the Allied Command to adjust to the overwhelming amount of prisoners being sent back home. No, his patience had run out. The run in with the guards had been the last straw; the war was over, the Allies won, he didn't have to follow the orders from a group of men who couldn't speak proper English, not anymore. He had no purpose to stay at Stalag 13 any longer, there were no more underground activities or missions from London coming in and he was supposed to be a free man. Hogan came to a decision: he was going to leave the camp by the end of the week, and if Burknov or the Allied Command had a problem with him doing so, that was too damn bad.

* * *

Burknov frowned when he saw the last of the prisoners playing in the compound retreat to the barracks; he wasn't sure of what happened out in the compound, but the game ended too abruptly for his liking. Games like kickball distracted the men, it kept their minds off of escape, it didn't allow them to think about rebelling against his men and ruining his plan. Irritated, he closed the window and called out for his assistant. He then began to look under picture frames and other objects in the room, searching for any bugs the men may have planted. The conversations Burknov held in the office could not, under any circumstances, be heard by the prisoners. Eavesdropping could stop his entire plan for the men of Stalag 13. specifically _Papa Bear's_ team, in its tracks. He turned over the first picture frame he saw and inspected it, nothing.

An older looking sergeant entered the room and quietly shut the door when he saw Burknov searching the room. Burknov continued searching under every photograph thoroughly while he spoke, "Why are the prisoners retreating to the barracks? They're supposed to be playing a game."

"They all left when Colonel Hogan was assaulted by a guard at the gate, sir," Burknov listened closely to the sergeant explain as he picked up a pencil holder, "he went to get a ball that landed closely to the gate and someone grabbed him."

Burknov's eyes flickered with anger, "who was the guard that did it? I'll have his head!" He slammed the pencil holder on the desk,"He assaulted the most important prisoner in camp! What if the prisoners riot now? What part of 'don't assault the prisoners' do these numbskulls not understand?"

The sergeant allowed Burknov to continue his rant without saying a word, knowing very well that once Burknov got it out of his system, he would be all right.

After many vulgar words and pledges to have every last guard in the camp shot, Burknov collapsed in the chair. He took a few deep breaths before speaking again, "Have you completed the task I assigned you?"

The sergeant shook his head, "No, sir."

"Finish it," Burknov ordered, his tone was cold. He leaned back in the chair and tapped his fingers on the table. appearing to be in deep thought. The sergeant, believing that Burknov was through with him, began to rise from his seat. A smile that spread across Burknov's face stopped him though. He lowered himself back into the chair and waited for Burknov to speak.

"Let's go over the plan again, shall we Minsk?"

He nodded.


	3. A Plan For Freedom

**Chapter Three**

_A Plan for Freedom_

* * *

The day was nearing it's end, yet another day spent in Stalag 13. After the incident with Hogan the guard at the gate, the prisoners stayed inside their barracks, unwilling to be the next victims of the guards at the gate.

Inside Barracks Two; the men spread to different corners of the common room, all lost in their own thoughts. Kinch and Baker sat at the table, Baker still crafting paper airplanes while Kinch watched with an unfixed gaze. Hogan stood by the door, lost in his own thoughts while Newkirk stared out the window. Carter sprawled out on his own bunk, yearning to make conversation with the other men, and LeBeau retreated to a bunk on the opposite side of the room to sleep.

The room was uncomfortably quiet; the other men who occupied Barracks Two during the war had long since left, venturing off to other barracks and some becoming lucky enough to be sent home. The hut belonged to Papa Bear's core team now.

"I'm sick of sittin' around waiting to go home," Newkirk said to himself while looking out the window "I should have been home weeks ago."

Carter lifted his head up, excited to have some communication with his friends, and looked down at Newkirk, "Hey, if you were back in London right now, what would you be doing?" The sergeant asked innocently.

Newkirk grinned, "Probably having a drink with some mates, maybe talking to a bird or two," his grin faded as he layed his eyes on the closed gates and barbed wire - a cruel reminder of how he was still in the same camp he had been in for years. His German captors may have been gone, the war in Europe may have ended, but he was still in Stalag 13. A prisoner of war - from a war that ended weeks ago.

Hogan took note of Newkirk's darkening disposition and walked over to him before casually placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder. He too gazed out the window. It was nearing dusk and the compound was empty, save the two Russians over by the gate. It was a different pair from earlier that afternoon.

"We'll be home soon," Hogan said in a comforting tone "and if they don't send us out soon, we'll walk out."

The last part caught everyone's attention.

"What do you mean, Colonel?" Kinch asked toying with one of Baker's paper airplanes.

Hogan sighed and went over to the table and leaned against the bunk closest to the door.

"What I mean is that if we don't get shipped back home soon, we should just walk out."

"Just walk out of camp?" Kinch raised an eyebrow. This was probably the first time since the war ended that he thought his commanding officer was off his rocker, "Colonel, we can't just walk out, you heard what Burknov said when he first took over the camp, Headquarters needs to have the amount of prisoners coming in to be moderated. Besides, those guys at the gate will shoot us before we even get three feet away from the camp," Kinch sighed and rubbed the drowsiness out of his eyes, "It's just a game of waiting."

The sergeant had made a valid point. Kinch was always the voice of reason, and Hogan knew that the likelihood of walking out of camp without incident was low. Kinch was being reasonable, as always. Hogan on the other hand, was no longer willing to be reasonable. He had been reasonable enough during the war, reasonable when Burknov announced that the men couldn't go home, and reasonable when the guards at the gate grabbed him. Reasonable was no longer in Hogan's vocabulary.

"Kinch, don't you think we've played this waiting game long enough?" He asked, the frustration in his voice unmasked, " Look, we risked our lives everyday for three years doing all kinds of crazy missions; we blew bridges, we stole top-secret information, we posed as Germans!" Hogan pointed at Newkirk, who had turned his attention to what was going on inside "some of us even wore women's clothing! And how do they reward us? They keep us locked in this damn prison camp with a bunch of lunatics so processing won't become overwhelming for them. You know who should have been the first group of prisoners to leave? Us. We should be home right now."

The men watched their commanding officer in silence for a few moments, soaking in his every word until a similar wave of emotions, anger mixed with frustration, set in.

"Colonel Hogan is right, you know, " Carter said in agreement, "I mean, it sounds kind of selfish, but I think we deserve to be out of this camp more than anyone."

The other men voiced their agreement, although they were hesitant.

"Do you think we'd have a chance?" Baker asked. He stopped with his paper planes, "even a small chance of making it out of the camp without being shot?"

Hogan motioned for everyone to gather around the table, "That's something we'll have to find out in good time, but I got an idea."

Carter jumped off of the bunk hastily and joined the men at the table, standing at Hogan's left. Newkirk joined in as well and stood to his right.

"What is it, guv?" the corporal said lighting a cigarette.

Hogan waited for the men to quiet down, and unveiled the plan that had been brewing his head for hours, "If we're not out of this camp by Friday, we will make a break for it. We'll take the escape route out of Germany, and give London one hell of a surprise."

"Hey that's a great idea!" Carter said enthusiastically, not bothering to keep his voice quiet for the resting LeBeau, "Boy, just think about the look on their faces when we just pop up on their doorstep! They'll choke on their tea, heck they'll probably drop their teacup because we'll give them such a scare and-"

"Carter, shut up!" Newkirk interrupted, "There is one problem, Colonel how do you suppose we'll get across English channel?"

"Newkirk has a point," Kinch added "we destroyed all of our radio equipment the night Burknov and his men came into camp, so we have no way to get in contact with anyone."

"Yeah, and even if we had a working radio, who could we contact? The underground shut down before the war even ended and if the Allied Command really doesn't want us, what would the chances be of them sending a sub?" Baker chimed in.

All of the men began talking at once, pointing out the holes in Hogan's plot.

"Hold it fellas," he said "a lot of details need to be worked out. I'm sure we'll find a way to get to England, we have pulled off the impossible before, we can do it again... If not," the officer drifted off making the others nervous.

"If not what?" LeBeau perked his head up.

Hogan shrugged, "Hope you guys can swim."

* * *

"So, what do you think Minsk?" Burknov asked after he outlined his plan. He sat halfway on his desk with his arms folded.

"It's a bad idea, sir, it really is," Minsk said, "Colonel Hogan is too smart to fall for this plan!"

Burknov shook his head at the sergeant's confidence in the American. Chucking, he replied, "He may be smart, but he's desperate."

Minsk tilted his head in confusion and Burknov further explained himself, "He's desperate to go home, they all are. Think about it, Vladimir, it has been three weeks since I took over this camp. Stalag 13, to be technical, is liberated; Colonel Hogan is a free man. Yet, he is still in camp and we're sending other men home, Men who sat around the whole war feeling sorry themselves while he risked his life," Burknov rose from his desk and stood behind Minsk, placing his hands on the man's shoulders. Minsk tensed. "When the opportunity comes to go home, Hogan will jump it quicker than you could blink. Desperation will blind his better judgement."

Minsk sighed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, Burknov's touch unnerving him, "I don't know..."

"Well, if you were still in Stalag 13... Never mind," Burknov laughed strangely before removing his hands from Minsk, " I shouldn't compare a lowly tailor to a man who was considered to be one of the biggest enemies to the Third Reich."

Minsk did not respond as an awkward tension set in. Burknov paced around the room.

"Colonel Hogan and his little friends will fall for this," he said quietly after what seemed like an eternity of silence, "if not, I'll just shoot them all in the camp."

Minsk's eyes grew wide and he leaped out if his seat, staring at Burknov. "You can't do that!"

Burknov frowned, unamused by the sergeant's outburst, "Watch me." He looked Minsk up and down, who was in obvious shock. Color was drained from his face, his mouth agape, and on closer observation Burknov noticed that he was trembling slightly. "Get out of here," he said coldly, "You look like you're about to faint, and my leg is in too bad of shape to help you get back up."

"Yes, sir," Minsk said in a whisper. He made his exit and closed the door quietly behind him.

Burknov glared at the door, a headache was beginning to form. It seemed that the closer it came for the plan to be executed, the more nervous Minsk became. Burknov didn't understand. Before the takeover of Stalag 13, Minsk had been more than willing to join the liberation team, now it seemed he was getting cold feet. Did Minsk harbor sympathy for Hogan and his men? Was it possible that he still considered the men as friends? If that was so, Burknov would have to dispose of Minsk. He didn't need the sergeant ruining the plan he had been formulating for months. But, Minsk was the only one who was familiar with Stalag 13's prisoners; only he knew who was in on the Papa Bear Operation and who was not. Burknov held a passionate hatred for Hogan and his team, but did not have the heart to murder innocent men who unfortunately, were thrown into a prison camp that doubled as a base for sabotage activities.

"He's the best you got," Burknov said to himself, "Minsk is the only one who knows Papa Bear and his team personally. If I replaced Minsk, I'd be wasting bullets on innocent men."

* * *

_A/N: I'd like to take a brief moment to apologize for this late update; I promise to keep my updates consistent from here on out. Also, I was going to save this for the story's end, but I'd like to say a big THANK YOU for those who have read, reviewed, favorited, and followed this story so far. I hope this chapter wasn't too disappointing, the action should be starting up in the next installment. _


	4. Planting Lies

**Chapter Four**

_Planting Lies_

* * *

As the week progressed, the camp population rapidly declined as more and more men were taken out of the camp. The weekly liberation of some of the prisoners became a daily occurrence; and as a result the process became more sloppy. Men were chosen at random instead of by the barracks they resided in. By the time Friday rolled around only a handful of men remained imprisoned at Stalag 13; including the six residents of Barracks Two.

Even though his own liberation could be around the corner, Colonel Hogan had his heart set on breaking out of camp late Friday night. His plan was plagued with holes and technicalities, including the means of getting to England from the middle of Germany. Hogan had a few vague ideas what to do, but nothing was set in stone. The American officer hoped that the five men accompanying him in the escape would drum up an idea... or three.

Hogan had slept in late that morning after a long, fruitless night of pacing and plotting. After awakening, the Colonel stepped outside the barracks where his men were standing around, talking. He was greeted by Carter before he even had shut the door behind him.

"Boy Colonel! You sure slept in late!" Carter said with a wide grin. The technical sergeant looked down as his watch, "it's already ten o'clock!"

Hogan cringed a little a frowned, "I didn't know it was that time already," he said with a hint of embarrassment in his voice, "did anything big happen while I was sleeping?"

"Besides miss breakfast? Nothing," LeBeau looked at the American, "are you hungry, Colonel? I could whip up something for you real quick."

"Nah, don't waste the food on me, LeBeau." Hogan said waving off the Frenchman's offer.

"You can have what's left of mine, sir," Newkirk offered, "I didn't eat much, didn't like it."

LeBeau scoffed and crossed his arms, slightly offended at the Englishman's lack of appreciation for his cooking, "Peasant."

Newkirk failed to hear LeBeau's insult. "I can hardly wait to be back in England and not having to eat this French stuff day after day."

"Excuse me?" LeBeau said sharply, "that 'French stuff' happens to be gourmet, and what prevented you from becoming a sickly twig during the war!" the French corporal turned up his nose in disgust and distanced himself away from Newkirk.

"Don't get yourself all worked up, Louis," Kinch said, "you know how Newkirk can be. We all do."

"Thanks Newkirk, but no thanks." Hogan intentionally avoided from divulging any further into the spat between his two corporals.

Newkirk shrugged, "Suit yourself."

The six men stood in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. LeBeau was staring daggers at Newkirk, and Newkirk was returning them. Even the ever-so optimistic Carter shifted his weight from one side to the other anxiously.

"So," Baked started after several minutes of silence, "today's Friday."

The common, usually meaningless comment on the day of the week seemed to clear the tension in the air, even if only a little. Each man understood the real meaning of Baker's remark.

"Indeed it is," Hogan said, quickly looking around for any eavesdropping Russians nearby before continuing in a hushed tone, "have you fellas come up with any ideas to get out of here?"

The five enlisted men exchange glances and looked at their commanding officer with sheepish grins.

"Nothing worth discussing," Kinch admitted, "how about you sir?"

That was not news Hogan wanted to hear, but he tried to mask his disappointment in his voice. "To be honest, I was relying on you guys to come up with something. But the idea I had in mind was trying to contact a member of the Underground. Maybe they have the resources to get us out of Germany."

"But Colonel -" Baker started, before being cut off by Hogan.

"I know Baker, I know. I meant contacting one of them _after_ getting out of Stalag 13."

"Blimey, Colonel! That's another problem!" Newkirk exclaimed. Hogan looked at the corporal, confused.

"Another problem?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes, how are we going to get out of camp without those crazy guys shootin' at us?"

"Create a distraction, of course."

"I know that," Newkirk said becoming frustrated, "but what kind of diversion?"

"The kind of diversion where... you know... we take their attention away from where it's supposed to be," Hogan faltered when he still saw the Englishman looking at him bewildered, along with Carter and LeBeau. "What? Do you expect me to think of everything? You fellas have to do your fair share of thinkin' too, you know."

"We take the attention away from the front gate and the entrance to the emergency tunnel, right?" Kinch said with a know-it-all smirk plastered on his face.

"Exactly, in fact, I'm going to plant that distraction right now." Before turning to leave, Hogan scanned over his men, mentally assigning each of them tasks to perform while he was gone.

"Carter and LeBeau, I want you both to go down into the tunnel and make sure it's stable enough for us to use tonight. Kinch, I want you to stay posted by the tunnel entrance if anything goes wrong and help Carter and LeBeau with any repairs. Newkirk and Baker, search for any money we might have had hidden in the barracks. It doesn't matter if it's real or fake. Got it?"

The five men voiced their eager "yes sirs" before going inside the barracks to complete their assignments. Hogan took off into the opposite direction towards the former _Kommandantur_, which was now Burknov's personal office.

* * *

Burknov was pacing around his office, growing anxious as the day for his brilliant plan to unfold. Doubt of whether Colonel Hogan and his men would fall for his plan began to sink deep into the Russian's heart. Burknov silently blamed Minsk for instilling that doubt, as it was his confidence in Colonel Hogan's cleverness that had started to make sense in Burknov's mind. Colonel Hogan and his team ran one of the most unconventional and greatest threats to the Third Reich during the war; every man on the American Colonel's team had developed an extraordinary sense of caution and were trained from experience to never invest trust into a complete stranger. Who was he to think that he could trick a man who could easily make fools out of the most powerful and elite people in Germany?

Burknov sighed and helped himself to two shots of brandy before thinking about Colonel Hogan again.

"You can't go doubting yourself now. It's too late in the game to give up." Burknov consoled himself in his native tongue while a third helping of brandy . He drank half of the liquid before setting the glass down on his desk.

"Damn that Minsk, as soon as Hogan and his comrades are out of my way; I'm going to shoot him myself!"

The door suddenly swung open, Burknov was taken off guard. In a rush to sit down and look normal, he hit his left leg against the desk. The Russian swore and fell back into the chair, enveloped in pain.

"Dammit, Vladimir!" he yelled massaging his injured leg, "what did I tell you about knocking!" When he heard no panicked apology, Burknov looked up with one eye open to see a tall man in a brown leather jacket staring down at him.

Burknov gasped, as he realized Colonel Hogan was standing right in front of him.

Burknov desperately tried to think of something to say, anything, but an English translation couldn't be composed in his clouded and confused mind. Baffled, he stared at the American.

"Are you okay?" Hogan asked halfheartedly, carefully studying the Russian nurse his injured leg.

"Y-yes," Burknov managed to say, "I hit my bad knee on this damn desk."

"Oh," was all Hogan said in response.

Burknov was clueless as to why Hogan would come to his office, he had made it clear after he first took control over Stalag 13 that no prisoner was allowed in his office, and that any issues or complaints were to be relayed via guard. Hoping to take the American's mind away from whatever it was he came for, Burknov spun a tale concerning his injury. "I was injured back in the first war, I was a soldier for no more than six months before I found myself injured and unable to fight. By the time I recovered, the Motherland had pulled out of the war. My knee is still in rough shape."

Hogan grabbed a chair sitting in front of the desk and turned it around, so the back would be against his chest.

"Look, Burknov, I didn't come here to listen to your life story. I have to tell you something."

"And what's that?"

Hogan looked off to the side and sighed dramatically, "Well, I shouldn't be telling you this. I mean - ratting out my own men isn't considered honorable in the least,"

"Ratting out your men?" Burknov asked with surprise, "Colonel Hogan, what's going on?"

The American waited a few moments before speaking again, for dramatic purposes.

"Some of my men are planning on escaping tonight, they're sick and tired of waiting around."

"Colonel Hogan, what do you expect me to do?" Burknov said, throwing his hands in the air, "I'm given my orders and I follow them. The Allied Command would have my head if I disobeyed their orders. All of your men, and yourself, will go home eventually. It's just... tricky."

"Then why have you been releasing men all week, but suddenly stop today?"

"Because the Allied Command -"

"The Allied Command can _shove_ it," Hogan said with false anger, "and if I were you Burknov, I'd put every man I had at the back of the camp, because my men are going out that way tonight!" The American leaned in close to the Russian, who looked terribly awkward. Hogan wasn't sure if he felt bad for having to keep them behind, or wasn't used to being yelled at.

"Very well, Colonel," Burknov swallowed the lump building in his throat. He didn't make eye contact with the officer, "I'll arrange for some men to guard the back of the camp."

Hogan stood up, turning the chair around to its previous position. He had one last question for Burknov.

"When am I going to go home, anyway?"

"I'll call the Allied Command later and ask about that," Burknov said hastily, refusing to even look at Hogan.

Hogan said nothing as he turned to the door, slamming it shut on his way out.

* * *

Hogan returned to the barracks with a renewed confidence. He was pleased that Burknov was so easy to trick. In fact, it was almost _too_ easy. Even when trying to fool Klink, Hogan usually had to say more to convince him - specifically ego inflating. Hopefully, Burknov would stay true to his word and place his men towards the back of the camp. The American couldn't help but break into a broad smile, in less than 24 hours he would be out of Stalag 13 for good. However, he promptly ignored the uneasy feeling growing in the back of his mind.


End file.
